Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
And I don’t want to do it if it’s going to create a hassle for Wy or interfere with his scheduling.
I swear to Spock that kid has an even busier social calendar than we do.
How does one school have so many fucking events?!
“Good evening, Mrs. Wilcox,” greets Silas Bhett, warm beige face lighting up significantly at my arrival.
“Bryn,” I sweetly correct while adjusting my work bag on my shoulder.
“Bryn,” he beams back prior to politely nodding at my security detail, “Hurst.”
“Bhett.”
Silas reminds me a lot of Clark.
He’s cordial yet polished.
Personable yet professional.
Treats the tenants in the building like extended family – knowing birthdays and schedules and social habits – and behaves as though each individual who takes up residence here is the boss he must appease by maintaining a dust free lobby, complimentary umbrellas on rainy days, vehicles pulled around without needing a request, mints, water, leashes, lint brushes, and just about anything else you could think of needing a concierge for.
Many people think he’s just a doorman.
I know he’s more like a magician.
Part of me wonders if he delivers the same attention to detail to the girlfriend, I think I recall him having.
“You’re home off schedule.” He folds his glove covered hands behind his back. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah! Work ran a little later than expected and then I went to have a drink with an old colleague who was in town that I haven’t seen in like forever.”
“You don’t have to refer to Mr. Connelly as an old colleague, Bryn,” Silas cheekily chastises. “I am aware of your non-professional relationship with him.”
“Still struggling to remember who knows what,” I giggle on a shake of the head. “So, yeah. I totally went and got a drink with Calen after work. But just one. It wasn’t an overnight visit, unfortunately.”
“How is Mr. Connelly? His lovely wife?”
“Pregnant!” gleeful squeals can’t be contained. “And I can’t wait to buy them cute, obnoxious, loud toys no baby needs that every parent hates.”
He doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “How thoughtful.”
“I plan to do the same shit to J.T. and Janae when they finally take the plunge.”
“I feel the Reeses will be less receptive to such gifts.”
“Absolutely. They bitch about the noisy ones I send with their nephew.” My theatrical wink causes both men in my presence to chuckle. “In fact, I think I’ll buy a new, extra loud one while they’ve got him for the weekend. Like a surprise, keep this at your place gift when we pick him up.”
His head tilts confusedly to one side. “They do not have him this weekend.”
“They should.”
“Little Mr. Wyland is upstairs with Mr. Wilcox – I was here for their later than usual arrival – and Mr. Reese – who arrived home before them – is currently enjoying an evening alone given that he ordered Coq au vin from Petit Roi something that only occurs when Mrs. Reese is occupied for the evening.”
“That because she doesn’t like French food.”
“I’m…” he once more fights the urge to grin, “aware.”
“I don’t like French food, either,” Lurch murmurs under his breath. “Everything has fucking mushrooms.”
Confusion about why there was a change of plans – a change no one informed me of – leads to me unhappily humming to myself.
Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like the night ahead?
“Is there anything I can have delivered or sent up to your penthouse for you, Bryn?” Silas inquires as the actual doorman opens it for a couple in the building. “Or you, Mr. Hurst? I do believe you are on security duty for the night.”
He cranes his face forward at the same time he snips, “I wasn’t.”
“My mistake,” Silas nervously mutters, curly haired head leaning backward. “Although, it was what Mr. Park informed me of during his exiting. He wanted building security to be extra cautious of their surroundings.”
Displeased grunts leave Lurch prompting me to suggest, “Why don’t we get to the Wilcox ward and figure out what the fuck is happening?”
My guard nods dismissingly to Silas who politely does the same to us both.
One short ride up to our floor later reveals to us Hill and Franken No Fun standing outside our penthouse door sporting equally exhausted and frustrated expressions.
“This does not look like my type of party, boys,” I light heartedly poke.
“Wait ‘til you get inside,” Hill murmurs prior to tapping his key to grant me access into my home.
Leaving Lurch with the others isn’t difficult unlike making it past the entry way due to Wyland’s school bag, go bag, and overnight bags haphazardly spilled in my path.
Yeah, I don’t need Chekov to state the obvious.
We definitely have a problem.
“No. Want. Muggets!” shouts my son from where’s he’s bobbing and weaving around the kitchen table.
“They’re shark shaped!”
“Pwezza!”
“We’re not having pizza!”
Wy frowns hard and stomps the one foot that is currently housing a sock. “Pwezza!”